Unanswered Calls
by Onari
Summary: Alternative ending for Provenance, so mind the spoilers! Sam's not answering Dean's call from the mausoleum...Brother’s angst, nervous breakdown. Oh and character’s death involved. It's lame, but short and it's got a chick flick included! COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: It depends; I don't own them in real life, but in my dreams...**

**Summary: Alternative ending for Provenance, so mind the spoilers! Brother's angst, nervous breakdown...I hope you like it ;-) Oh, and character's death involved (evil laugh).**

**Thanks to Emrys, my amazing beta, whose support and great job is priceless. She suggested I make a "grab a tissue" warning for you!**

_**UNANSWERED CALLS**_

_Chapter 1_

Dean watched intently as the fire consumed the remains of the doll. With adrenaline still rushing through his body and with his jaw clenched, he stared as each fiber of the cursed mop of dead hair burned and volatilized in the dusty half-light of the mausoleum. He mentally sent a curse of his own to the spirit of the psycho girl who had once owned the doll and wished for her to rot in hell forever.

_Sam..._

Heart pounding fast, Dean jerked awake from his fire-induced trance and fumbled for his cell phone. He quickly scrolled down to Sam's number and waited tensely for a response on the other end of the line.

"C'mon..."

The tones followed one another in an even and impassive fashion that drilled through Dean's brain to his increasingly worried soul. As he desperately waited for Sam to pick up on the other end, the hunter found himself counting the ringing pulses of sound. Each time a new ring started he expected it to be the last and found himself hating the tones with all his heart when the next one shattered his hopes.

"Sam, c'mon, answer the damn phone!" he yelled into the receiver.

But no answer came. Dean shut his eyes and tried hard not to panic.

"Sammy, this is _not_ funny."

And he failed.

"Sammy, _please._"

Eventually, the unanswered call was automatically cut off and the line went dead. Dean stood frozen in place for a second, and unconsciously held his breath. This couldn't be happening; he couldn't accept it. Sam had to be fine, and if he wasn't answering the phone it was because...Well, it better be for a damn good reason, one that would have them both laughing afterwards. After Dean kicked his ass for scaring the crap out of him, that is.

No, he wouldn't give up on Sam. And most importantly, not because a damn set of tones considered a call "unanswered." _He_ would decide whether a call was unanswered or not!

Hell, there probably was a way to do that, if he ever took the time to personalize the cell phone settings.

Tossing a last, fuming look at the ashes of the doll, Dean shoved the cell inside his pocket and swore under his breath.

"I promise you, bitch, if you've done something to my brother, I'll chase you down to hell and burn you all over again."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Dean pulled over the Impala with a loud screech in front of Evelyn's house and rushed to the door with baited breath. After a couple of vain attempts to get a hold of his brother, Dean was officially terrified, and his chest ached so badly he doubted he could manage to force a single word up through his vocal chords.

"SAM!"

Well, apparently he was wrong about the whole vocal chord thing.

"SAM! SAMMY!" he yelled again, pounding on the door with his fists as hard as he could.

Unexpectedly, the hinges gave way and the door cracked open without letting out the slightest sound. Dean staggered and leaned on the doorframe for support, since the lack of oxygen from yelling was making him dizzy.

"Sammy," he whispered.

Swallowing the lump that had started to build inside his throat, Dean pushed the door and slipped cautiously into the house. All the while he made sure that his hand hovered near his gun.

"Sam?" he called. "Sam, are you there?"

Dean's voice wavered, as if the deadly silence that reigned all over the place was engulfing it. Again, he got no answer from Sam, and Dean forced himself to advance down the hall and into the corridor, where only the sound of his own, uneven breathing kept him company. When he tried to turn on the lights, he discovered there was no current, and his heart sank a bit more. Pricking up his ears in an attempt to hear any sounds coming from further inside the house, he headed for the living room, the place where the damned painting had been exposed.

_Sammy, please be there._

Dean couldn't remember the last time he had prayed. But as he grabbed the gun and braced himself to turn the knob of the door, he prayed with all his heart for his little brother to be okay. He couldn't envision any other possibility, and so he fought tooth and nail against relentlessly falling into despair.

He entered the room and immediately fixed his eyes on the painting. Finding it unaltered and safely motionless, Dean released part of the tension he was feeling. However, his anxiousness peaked as soon as he tossed a look around and realized that the room was completely trashed.

"Damn…" he breathed.

There was furniture knocked over and scattered all around, and the crunching sound of his steps told him that there were numerous pieces of shattered glass covering the floor. Frightened of the kind of power that could have caused such devastation, Dean tightened the grip on his gun and stepped forward, all the while scanning the room nervously as he advanced deeper into the gloom. Suddenly, he thought he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye, and gun in hand, he turned around in one fluid movement.

At first, he didn't see anything. He just stood there, grinding his teeth and grabbing the gun so hard that his knuckles started to turn white. But as his eyes grew accustomed to the poor lighting a huge object—was that a piano?—caught his attention. The object was abnormally drawn up against a wrecked glass cabinet that was slumping forwards so that it rested unstably against the edge of the furniture. Trying to spot whatever it was that he had seen moving in the first place, Dean eyed the scene. Then, he spotted something… no, _someone_ sprawled awkwardly on the floor, in between the piano and the cabinet, over a pool of blood. His eyes lingered on the form, and his heart skipped a beat when he was able to make out a familiar face under the long, honey-brown bangs of hair.

_Sammy…_

**TBC**

**I won't be too mean: next chapter in a couple of days! Please, review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: It depends; I don't own them in real life, but in my dreams...**

**Summary: Alternative ending for Provenance, so mind the spoilers! Brother's angst, nervous breakdown...I hope you like it ;-) Oh, and character's death involved (evil laugh).**

**I have to say I'm overwhelmed by the response to the first installemnt. Thanks so much to all of you! I hope you like what's next! Thanks to Emrys too. Always ;-) If you have the time, check out her work; her latest fanfic is "Not talking about it", and it's really good. (Find it at Supernatural Best C2!)**

_**UNANSWERED CALLS**_

_Previously_

_Then, he spotted something… no, someone sprawled awkwardly on the floor, in between the piano and the cabinet, over a pool of blood. His eyes lingered on the form, and his heart skipped a beat when he was able to make out a familiar face under the long, honey-brown bangs of hair._

_Sammy…_

_Chapter 2_

The world stopped moving. Time froze. A dizzying buzz came out of nowhere and made Dean's senses numb. He parted his lips and gasped for air, but it was as if a knot had blocked his throat and a rock was rolling over his chest. His lips trembled but voiced no sound.

_Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…_

He knew he had to react. However, dozens of images of a lifetime with Sam were already flashing in his mind and blending with the terrible scene in front of him. Dean was unable to stop them. He couldn't move, he couldn't talk, he couldn't _think_. And breathing was no longer an option, since any fight for survival in him seemed to have left his body the moment he'd found his little brother lying on the floor.

_Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead…_

It probably lasted no more than two or three seconds, but Dean would remember it as the longest three seconds of his life. Because his eyes were fastened on his brother, it was finally sight, of all his senses, that registered that Sam was moving. Dean's heart jolted, and he blinked away the tears that blurred his vision.

"Sam?" he croaked.

Sam didn't answer, and during an appalling instant, Dean feared he had just imagined him moving. But he hadn't. Now that the first moment of shock had passed, Dean could clearly see that Sam was rocking slowly in the dark. An intense wave of relief made Dean's knees wobble, but the older hunter rushed to his brother's side anyway. He found himself torn between the urge to hold him tight against his chest and sob his heart out on his shoulder and the fear-fueled anger that prompted him to rip Sam's head off for giving him such a fright.

"Shit, man! What's your problem? You forget how to answer a fucking phon…"

Dean's voice fell, and he stopped dead in his tracks when Sam looked up to him with glazed eyes. It was then that Dean realized Sam was cradling Sarah's head in his lap. She was pale, too pale, and her eyes were unanimated and fixed on the ceiling. A thin thread of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, but other than that, her lips were completely drained of color. Dean swallowed back the nausea when he noticed that the girl's throat had been slashed. Her torso was covered in blood. Sam was covered in blood. Sarah's blood was everywhere.

At a loss for words, Dean kneeled in front of Sam and could only gape at Sarah's lifeless body. Suddenly aware of the thick, metallic smell that filled his nostrils, the weight of responsibility fell heavily onto the older hunter's shoulders. He couldn't shake off the feeling that he had been too late, that he had been too slow, and because of it, an innocent woman had died. If only he had gotten to the mausoleum a minute before, or if he hadn't hesitated before shooting the glass window that kept the doll, maybe Sarah would still be alive. Hesitantly, he raised a hand and placed it on Sarah's neck in a self-delusional search for a pulse.

"She's…I couldn't…" Sam stammered.

Dean gulped and raised his eyes to meet his brother's. Sam's expression was beyond devastated. Long-spent tears had left traces of diluted blood across his red stained cheeks, and he held a vacant look that gave Dean the chills. The older hunter shook his head slightly and clung onto the relief of knowing he wasn't checking for Sam's pulse instead of Sarah's. It did little to ease his remorse, but while Dean was pretty sure he could live with remorse, he was just as sure he couldn't live without Sam.

"Are you hurt?" Dean asked hoarsely.

Sam showed no reaction. He just stared at his brother emptily and then looked back at Sarah's face before resuming his absent rocking. Dean could see the kid was in shock and, realizing that his question wasn't going to be answered, made a closer examination of his little brother. It was hard to tell if Sam was injured, since there was too much blood everywhere, and Sam's skin and clothes were also spattered with it. He seemed to have some minor cuts on his arms, hands and face. Pieces of glass were also scattered in his ruffled hair. Dean warily glanced at the smashed cabinet over Sam's head and then reached out to grab Sam's shoulders.

"C'mon, we need to get you out of here", he said, shaking him gently.

Sam shuddered at Dean's touch, then stiffened,held Sarah even tighter, and rocked more noticeably.

"No…" the younger man muttered in a small voice.

"Sam," Dean said, trying to regain his attention.

The younger Winchester didn't respond, and Dean bit his lip hard. How long had Sam been holding onto the dead body like that? How long had it taken Dean to get back to him? Dean shifted one hand to cup his brother's face and simultaneously squeezed Sam's shoulder with the other.

"Sammy, c'mon. Stop it," Dean coaxed him. "It's okay now."

"No, it's not okay. It's _not_ okay! She's dead. _Dead,_" Sam hissed.

As fresh tears sprung from his baby brother's eyes, Dean felt the need to wipe them away with his thumb, just as he wanted to run a hand into his brother's hair to get rid of those tiny pieces of glass that defiled it, or to stroke his cheeks to clean the blood. He would give or do anything to erase Sam's troubled look and get him to stop shaking. However, Dean refrained himself. Winchesters didn't do things like that, and he was unsure of how Sam would react.

"I know," the older brother said, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry."

Sam's lower lip quivered and he ground his teeth to control the trembling. Dean clumsily rewarded his brother's efforts to keep it together with a mild smile, but it froze on his lips when Sam intently looked at him with a haunted gaze.

"I told you we should have left her out of this," Sam said in a strangled tone. "I knew this was going to happen. I told you I didn't want to involve her!"

Taken by surprise, Dean flinched and shook his head in disbelief. Sam was blaming him? A pang of guilt clenched the pit of Dean's stomach, and he felt the bile rising up his throat.

_He's right. It's my fault...It's my..._

Wait, no. He knew Sam better than that. And he knew that look. The kid couldn't possibly think that...

"Sam, it's not your fault," Dean said firmly.

Sam shut his eyes and started breathing in short gasps.

"Sam!" Dean repeated. Despite himself, his voice sounded increasingly harsh, because Sam was starting to freak him out. "It's _not_ your fault!"

"You don't understand."

"_You_ don't understand! Dude, you said it yourself. We can't save everyone!"

"I didn't "not save her"! I put her in danger!"

"She walked into the house voluntarily! She walked into the house knowing what we do and what could be inside!"

"You think it's _her_ fault?"

"I don't think it's anybody's fault! I think it's that damn painting's fault! Shit happens, okay? You know that!"

"No!" Sam cried.

Sam jerked away from Dean's hold and, shaking uncontrollably, bent forwards over Sarah's body. Dean couldn't remember feeling so damn helpless in his whole life. He wasn't good at dealing with emotional breakdowns, because nobody had taught him how to handle them. Dean always felt responsible when he failed to save someone. Too often he felt really bad, and guilt-ridden, brooding episodes weren't unfamiliar to him. But he was also used to sucking things up and moving on, no matter what. That's how Winchesters coped, that was what Sam was supposed to do. Actually, that was what Sam had done after Jessica's death, and Jessica had been the love of his life. Watching as his brother's fell apart right in front of him, was something Dean was not ready to deal with. It was too scary, and Dean knew only one way to fight fear.

_Enough._

Call the hunter back into action.

"Sam, let go of her," Dean commanded.

When Jessica had died, Sam had had nothing to cling onto. But now, with the solidity of Sarah's body still evident, he apparently wasn't going to give in so easily. When the authoritarian tone elicited no response, Dean grabbed his brother's arms firmly. Dean was ready to disentangle him from Sarah by force if necessary, but Sam fought him and kept a deadly grip on the girl's limp body.

"No!"

"Sam, you need to let go of her, _now_!" Dean said, this time raising his voice.

"No!" Sam's voice matched his brother's yell in volume.

"She's not Jessica. You hear me? Sam, she's NOT Jessica!"

Sam's next breath broke into a sob.

"I know that! But I killed them both!" he cried. "I killed them, just like I killed Mom!"

Dean's heart raced, but before he had time to let Sam's words sink in, he noticed that his little brother's grip had weakened for a split second. It was enough for Dean to shift himself and gain the upper hand in the struggle.

**TBC**

**You didn't think I'd kill Sam, right? Having Sarah as potential victim? No way! Next episode in two days. I hope you had fun! If you did, please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: It depends; I don't own them in real life, but in my dreams...**

**Summary: Alternative ending for Provenance, so mind the spoilers! Brother's angst, nervous breakdown...I hope you like it ;-) Oh, and character's death involved (evil laugh).**

**Here you have the next installment! As promised Thanks to you all for your amazing support. And Em, you've got all my love and devotion.**

_**UNANSWERED CALLS**_

_Previously_

"_She's not Jessica. You hear me? Sam, she's NOT Jessica!"_

_Sam's next breath broke into a sob._

"_I know that! But I killed them both!" he cried. "I killed them, just like I killed Mom!"_

_Dean's heart raced, but before he had time to let Sam's words sink in, he noticed that his little brother's grip had weakened for a split second. It was enough for Dean to shift himself and gain the upper hand in the struggle._

_Chapter 3_

"Get off me! LET ME GO!" Sam howled.

Ignoring Sam's frantic thrashing, Dean hauled him away from Sarah's body. At some point one of them kicked the piano, and the cabinet slid a couple of inches, causing a new shower of shattered glass to flow over their heads. Dean covered Sam with his body as he pulled him out of danger. Nevertheless, the tingling rain falling over his back made him lose his focus for an instant, and suddenly Sam connected a hard elbow into Dean's stomach. The latter let out a pained gasp and released his brother.

"Sam…" Dean wheezed.

Oblivious to the glass pieces that pierced his hands and knees, the younger hunter crawled away from Dean and stood up unsteadily. His breath was labored, and he stumbled against the wall as soon as he was on his feet. Dean got up too, panting heavily after the struggle. Positioning himself so that he was blocking Sarah's body from Sam's view, Dean set his gaze on his brother's bewildered eyes, and inhaled deeply. He needed to remain calm for his brother's sake. Judging by Sam's looks, he was still in shock, and if he pushed too hard, he would slip over the edge.

"Hey, Sammy," he called to him softly. "Man, you have to calm down, okay?"

Sam frowned and squeezed the bridge of his nose. His lips quivered, as if they were trying to form some kind of sound, but no word escaped them. He seemed utterly confused and barely aware of his surroundings. His head slumped between his shoulders, and his eyes started to drift closed.

"No, no, no, look at me, bro," Dean pressed. "C'mon."

Sam's eyes fluttered open again and struggled to focus on Dean. When they did, the older brother glimpsed a faint flicker of recognition in them. It was weak, but Dean held onto it in order to reassure himself that his brother was still in there somewhere.

"That's it," Dean said, encouragingly. "You're going to be fine."

Sam's eyes welled with unshed tears but remained fixed on Dean's. Dean took his silence as acquiescence and stepped towards him. Immediately, Sam recoiled and raised a hand to stop him.

"Don't."

"Sammy."

"Stay away from me."

"What? Why?"

"Because I killed them…"

"Dammit, Sam," Dean said, clenching his fists. "Stop saying that. You didn't kill them. You haven't killed anybody in your whole life."

"But they died because of me. They died because they were close to me," Sam went on stubbornly. "I told Sarah, but she didn't want to believe me. Every time I let a person get close to me, they die. Mom died, and Jess died, and Sarah…"

"For Christ sake, Sam, _stop_ _it,_" Dean ordered.

"You need to stay away from me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm cursed."

Floored by Sam's statement, Dean could only stare at his brother. In fact he was so shocked that it took him a moment to find words with which to respond.

"You are not cursed, Sam," Dean said, shaking his head.

"It's not safe to be around me."

"That's bullshit, man! What about all the people you've saved? How do you explain them?"

"They were just people. I didn't care about them. But you…you're not safe around me. I can't let anything happen to you!"

"Nothing's going to happen to me!"

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!" Sam lashed out.

Sam's breath hitched, and he raised a hand to rub his forehead, but in doing so his eyes lingered on the blood that stained it. It was as if he had become aware of it for the first time. Dean noticed his brother's loss of color and watched as Sam's eyes widened, and he started shaking badly. Dean realized that Sam was panicking when he let out a strangled moan.

This wasn't good.

Without a second thought, Dean tried to approach him again.

"DON'T," the younger brother shouted, backing away like a caged animal.

Dean slowed down and raised his palms to ease Sam, but the distressed man wasn't fooled. Stumbling over a table knocked over the carpet, he tried to get as far away from Dean as possible.

"Don't come any closer!"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sam."

"But I will! I WILL! I don't want to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt anybody else! Just leave me alone!"

"I can't do that," Dean said, reaching out for him.

Sam pushed Dean away hard and stepped back; his eyes darted from his older brother to the living room door.

"_Please_, just…I have to do this."

Dean noticed Sam's glance towards the door and tensed.

"Do what?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"Leave. I need to leave alone. I need you to promise you won't try to find me," Sam brokenly blurted out.

Dean cocked an eyebrow and glared at Sam as if the kid had just gone crazy. Sammy used to hate it when his big brother used that particular look to discredit his tantrums, but Dean knew that while it pissed Sam to end, it got him back to his senses too. However, this time, Dean detected no signs of aggravation in Sam. On the contrary, he kept staring at Dean with imploring eyes. Sam was serious.

"Ah, Sammy-boy. You're not _that_ tired of my music already, are you?" Dean asked, chuckling nervously.

Probably humor wasn't the best approach, but it was the only approach Dean was able to come up with to mask how deep this driven, blood-shot, distorted version of Sam's puppy-eye look was hurting him.

"Promise me," Sam begged.

"Sorry, Sam," Dean grunted. "That's not going to happen."

Obviously disheartened and looking defeated to the core, Sam dropped his eyes. Dean felt bad, but Sam had to be out of his mind if he really thought that he would just step aside and watch as his baby brother disappeared from his life forever.

_Again._

"C'mon," the older man muttered, walking to his brother once more. "Let's just get out of here, alright?"

Sam pursed his lips and glared at Dean in a way that made his big brother shiver. Then, Sam reached for the back of his trousers and pulled out a gun. Dean held his breath when his baby bother aimed the gun at him and stopped in the middle of the room.

"Sam?", Dean locked eyes with him intently and forced out his calmest tone. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," Sam said, sniffling.

"Now put the gun down, okay? Just take it easy. Put the gun down, and we'll talk about this."

"No. I'm leaving. And you're not following me. And you're not looking for me. Promise me you won't."

"I told you I can't do that."

"You're gonna have to."

"Or what? Sammy listen to yourself! You'renot making any sense! You want to take off because you're afraid to hurt me? And to stop me from following you, you're going to kill me?"

Sam's Adam's apple wobbled, and the gun wavered in his hand.

"I could shoot you in the leg," he offered with an uneven voice. "That wouldn't kill you."

"Well, that wouldn't stop me either."

Sam's expression became unreadable as he slowly lowered the gun.

"You're right."

Dean released his breath, yet relief refused to manifest. That had been too easy. Something was wrong. And he knew what it was when he watched in alarm as Sam directed the gun to his own head.

"I'm sorry."

**TBC...**

**So, what should I do now? Another death in the family? Do you want to save Sam? Review! **

**Ok, I know you probably hate me by now...But next Thursday you'll get the ending!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here it is! The ending at last! Thank you guys for your AMAZING support. Thanks to my beta too!**

**By the way, I got a very interesting review (wasn't signed, so I couldn't reply it directly) wondering if it wasn't too selfish of Sam to think about shooting Dean first, and only later to considercommitting suicide. Well, I admit I hadn't thought that kind of reading could be done, but I guessit makes sense. My take on the scene, though, was different: Sam is pretty confused at the time, that's obvious, but he's not confused as in "I'm actually thinking about killing my brother" confused.I don't think he would ever do that.However, he is confused enough to think Dean will buy that Sam's ready to shoot him, and the older Winchester will surrender at the threat. When Sam understands Dean is not going to do that, (aka, he's discovered the bluff), he does consider shooting Dean in the leg. After all, he's convinced at the time that if Dean stays with him, he'll end up killed, so yeah, he'd hurt him a bit if that means saving his life. But both Sam and Dean know that that wouldn't stop Dean from following his brother. Last resort is suicide then. Does this make any sense to you?**

**Enjoy the chapter!**

_**UNANSWERED CALLS**_

_Previously_

_Dean released his breath, yet relief refused to manifest. That had been too easy. Something was wrong. And he knew what it was when he watched in alarm as Sam directed the gun to his own head._

"_I'm sorry."_

_Chapter 4_

"Sam…" Dean hissed, "Put.The.Gun.Down."

"This is the only way."

"No, it's not. _It's not,"_ the older hunter stressed, holding Sam's gaze intently. "Listen, I understand you're upset, but you're not in your right mind right now. You have to trust me."

"I trust you."

"Then prove it!" Dean shouted, desperately.

Sam jumped and swallowed hard, but his finger remained on the trigger.

"I just want to protect you…" he cried, begging Dean to understand.

Sam was hysterical. But Dean was beyond terrified, and he could no longer contain his temper.

"Protect me? _Protect me_? You think killing yourself is going to protect me?" Dean yelled.

"You'll be fine. You'll find Dad!" Sam assured him, tears rolling freely down his cheeks.

"You kill yourself, you kill me, Sam!" Dean retorted bluntly. "You kill _me_, you hear?"

"No…"

"Now, do it! We've been here before! If you're so sure you want to kill your brother, pull the damn trigger!"

"That's not what I want…"

"THEN STOP BITCHING AND PUT THE GUN DOWN!"

"Please."

"NOW, SAM. _NOW_!" Dean roared.

Pressing the barrel of the gun harder against his temple, Sam sobbed and closed his eyes. Dean used that moment of distraction to jump on his brother just like a lion would. Grabbing the gun, he twisted Sam's arm and pinned his baby brother against the wall where he attempted to force Sam to let the firearm go. His fierce determination didn't waver, in spite of his brother pained cry, but when Dean finally took the gun from him and tossed it to the floor, Sam's knees gave way and Dean's first instinct was to stop his little brother's fall. Both brothers landed on the carpet, with their arms and legs awkwardly entangled.

For the next few seconds, neither of them said a word. Dean straightened up with a groan and managed to rest his back against the wall, where he pressed the heels of his hands on his eyelids and tilted his head back. He took a moment to catch his breath, since his heart was pounding so hard in his temples that his head was starting to throb to keep up with the rhythm. Slumped dejectedly between his legs with his elbows on his knees, Sam whimpered quietly and buried his head in his hands. It was hard to believe how a 23-year old man the size of Sam was able to curl up into such a shaky, little ball.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean whispered under his breath, his eyes moist. "Come here."

Dean reached out to grab his baby brother's shoulder and pulled Sam's back roughly against him. The tiny Sammy-ball snuggled into Dean's embrace. Sam's sobs intensified, and the tremors that shook his body became Dean's own as they passed on from skin to skin. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's back and chest and cradled his little brother protectively. He could feel Sam's racing heart against his palm and the erratic rise and fall of his chest. For some reason, the scattered glass on his brother's hair still upset Dean deeply, and this time he did run a hand through Sam's hair to shake it off.

"Look at you," Dean muttered softly.

His own voice, distant and thick with emotion, was barely recognizable to his ears. Aware that he was dangerously close to losing it, Dean chuckled inwardly.

"You've got to be more careful. You're going to cut yourself."

Sam didn't fight him, but cried harder as he leaned into the touch. Clutching onto the distraught gasps and the rapid pulse that were his reassurances that Sam was really alive, Dean let his baby brother shift and rest his head on his shoulder.

"Dean..."

Dean's mind absently registered that this was the first time Sam had voiced his name since he had found him rocking on the floor with Sarah's body in his embrace. And never before, since Sam was a little child, had his name on his lips sounded so much like a plea. A plea that said, "It hurts."

He wordlessly held Sam tighter and pressed his cheek into Sam's hair, breathing into it as part of a battle for composure lost in advance. As adrenaline gradually wore off, Dean felt self-control slipping away from him little by little. He couldn't stop the tears that began to fall and wouldn't bother to try. At that moment he felt barely able to grasp one thing at a time, and nothing in the world was going to make him lose his grip on Sam.

"Dean," Sam repeated against the crook of his neck.

A plea that said, "Make it stop."

"I got you, kiddo," Dean whispered back.

"Dean…"

"Shhh, I'm here," he said, reassuringly.

"You crying?"

Dean swallowed hard, but couldn't stop a teary laugh from escaping his throat.

"Yes, Sam," he admitted with unusual candor.

"Why?" the younger brother croaked.

"Because you scared me, " Dean replied honestly. "I thought I was going to lose you."

Sam's sobs subsided a little, but Dean still sensed a raw vulnerability coming off of him in waves.

"You said you were never scared," Sam muttered.

"Well, I lied."

"I'm sorry, Dean. I just...I don't know what..."

"It's okay. You're okay now."

Sam took a ragged breath. Dean continued to stroke his hair and his back gently until Sam ran out of tears and relaxed in his big brother's hug.

"I'm sorry about Sarah, man."

"I know," Sam said and sighed. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I-I'm scared too"

Dean squeezed his brother's shoulder possessively and pulled him even closer.

"It's going to be fine"

"You really think I'm not cursed?"

"I know you're not cursed."

"But what if I am?"

"You're not."

"But what if…"

"IF you were cursed," Dean said, cutting him off, "we would figure it out. That's what we do. We fight curses."

"Yeah…yeah, I guess." Sam said and then paused before adding, "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For not letting me go."

Dean snorted softly. He knew that sooner or later he would have to get a grip on himself and stand up. He would have to get Sam to his feet, and he would have to make sure that they were hitting the road before sunrise and that nobody was following their tracks. He knew they probably would never mention any of this again, but also knew that no matter how far they went, eventually both of them would have to come to terms with Sarah's death. Sam would never be the same after it, and neither would Dean.

But for the time being, all that mattered was that his brother was hanging onto him, and they had made it through the night in one piece. Everything else would be fixed in time.

"We're stuck together, remember?" Dean said. He closed his eyes and finally allowed himself to relax now that he was sure Sam wouldn't be vanishing anytime soon. "I'll always be there for you. Don't you ever doubt that."

-THE END-

**That's it, folks. I'm sorry, I've got this thing for happy endings. Well, bittersweet endings, I guess. But still. What do you think? Any final comment? I was toying with the idea of writing a short coda, but I'm not sure it's really needed. For now, I declare this fanfic COMPLETE!**

**You've been wonderful. Thanks for your time!**


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